Forbidden Fruit
by the-sexybee
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale get to talking over dessert. Send in proof of reading, and collect your very own Apocalypse! (Notice: Apocalypse void on Earth and where prohibited by law.)


Forbidden Fruit 

It all started over dinner.  The meal was at the pleasant coffee and dessert stage (and of course, the dessert wines, wouldn't be complete without them, and who really cared if Chateau Lafite counted as a proper dessert wine*).  The ruckus at the corner table started when one of the gentlemen**, the nicer, slightly drunker one attempted to order apple crisp for dessert. 

"Apple?  Isn't that a bit _old-fashioned_?"

"What's wrong with that?  I _like_ apples.  And I should think they were just your style."

"Not unless they're soaked in rum.  Besides, you know it wasn't even _really_ an apple at all."

"Yes, but you must admit they look so _nice_, don't they?  And that lovely crisp scent, and the taste is really quite delicious.  You know, I'm rather fond of an apple for a midnight snack."

"You do realize that that is probably a metaphor for something devious and sinful about your inner nature.  Comes of all these years hanging around me."  Crowley smiled sharply behind dark sunglasses.

"Noooo..." Aziraphale trailed off doubtfully. "I think I just like the taste."

"Freud would disagree."

"Freud.  Mmm, tall, rather disheveled fellow? Wore spectacles and liked those Greek playwrights?  Wasn't he one of your people?"

Crowley made a face.  "Not ours.  Believe me, we could never dream up all that stuff about his mother.  And don't even get me started on the cigars." He shuddered.  "I rather hope he didn't end up Down Below.  I can imagine he would have quite a few ideas about improvements.  And demons don't need to be _less_ repressed."

Aziraphale blinked owlishly.  "Oh dear me.  I hadn't realized he was quite...so....er." He stared mournfully down at his glass.  "Still, perhaps he's not _quite_ that bad?" he inquired hopefully.

"Two words for you, angel. Viennese coffee."

"Oh. Er." He blinked and cast about for a way to change the subject. "What were we talking about again?"

"Apples. You. The eating thereof."

"Yes. Like I said, there really _can't_ be any significance to that.  It wasn't _the _forbidden fruit."

"But that's what people _believe_.  Isn't that what your people are all about?  Belief, faith, moving mountains, what have you."

"Well yes, but that doesn't change the _facts_, dear boy." Aziraphale was quite proud of this cunning argument, and thrust his fork forward to prove his point.  Unfortunately he was still quite squiffed and his fork knocked over the wine bottle. He quickly conjured up a replacement bottle and poured them both another glass.

Crowley took a sip.  "Doesn't matter," he reiterated firmly.  "Fact is, humans think it was.  That's all that matters."

"Yes, well, they think _you_ should have horns and hooves."

"Huh. Ungulates have no _style_." He paused peevishly. "Besides, we're talking about symbolism anyway. Facts don't make any difference with that."

"Well, it should.  And besides, I think it does.  I mean, what are we if not symbols of a greater Good? And Evil, of course," he added apologetically. 

"Well, _I'm_ a cunningly devious fiend in human form who happens to look very good in black.  And you're a soppy git who reads too many books and likes apples in a way that good little angels probably shouldn't.  Believe me, I'd notice if I happened to be hanging around in poems and stuff, swanning around like a great big bloody symbol."

"See, that's my point.  You're a symbol _and_ you're real.  As a symbol of Evil I go around trying to thwart you.  As yourself,  I have dinner with you in nice restaurants." He smiled triumphantly.  "And apples as a symbol are sinful, but real apples are simply tasty fruits. So there."

"Hmph." Crowley _knew_ he was missing out on a leap across a vast chasm of logic on the angel's part, but in his current pleasantly inebriated state he wasn't sure exactly what it was, or if it even mattered.  He flagged down the waitress.  "Two apple crisps.  And make sure you put extra rum on both."

"But sir, the apple crisp doesn't come with rum sauce," she protested, writing down the order.  

"It does now." He glared at her, and she suddenly realized that of _course_ it came with rum sauce, whatever had she been thinking.  

As she scurried off, Aziraphale turned slightly scolding eyes on Crowley.  "You didn't have to add the rum sauce.  Now she's going to get in trouble with the chef."

Crowley raised an eyebrow.  

"Well, okay," Aziraphale blushed, "so I might have had a slight word with the chef about that.  But it still wasn't very nice of you."

"Of course.  I'm the symbol of ultimate evil, right?  Gotta keep up appearances." He smirked.  "Besides, I've got to have some sort of alcoholic stimulant to make that stuff decent."

"Imagine that, an angel tempting a demon into eating an apple.  My, how times have changed.  And what does that say about _you_, I wonder."

"Oh shove it, angel."

Aziraphale drowned his smile in another glass of wine.  He wasn't _really_ lying, after all.  He did like apples quite a lot.  And besides, he'd never really thought the tomato was a proper fruit anyway.

  


* * *

* Crowley liked it, so as far as he was concerned, it went with _everything.  _And since he was a demon, the wine was quite surprised to find that it did.

** Or gentlemen shaped beings, at least, and if the taller one in the camelhair coat seemed to radiate a sort of innocent _goodness_, his partner made up for it with those dark sunglasses he insisted on wearing even inside and the way he occasionally seemed to hiss some of his words in a way that sounded far less like a lisp and far more like something rising up warningly from the grass.

Author's Note: For Becca, not because she asked, but because she always appreciates.  And many thanks to Gneil and Pterry for giving me such wonderful canon to play with.


End file.
